


the descendants

by Itar94



Series: the ghost and the raven [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alien Culture, Alternate Universe - Daemons, Backstory, Culture Shock, Daemons, Episode: s01e01-e02 Rising, First Meetings, Gen, Non-Linear Narrative, Oneshot, Original Character Death(s), Wraith, ancients (sort of), tw: there's a mention of child death (non-graphic)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-05-31 21:50:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6488794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itar94/pseuds/Itar94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teyla and Kanaan have grown up with their stories, singing their songs under the shelter of the twin moons of Athos, whispering, praying: <i>one day we shall be free of the Wraith; one day the Ancestors shall come back and destroy them.</i><br/><i>(a story of first meetings.)</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	the descendants

**Author's Note:**

> (2016-04-12) Hello, I'm back! This isn't the actual sequel you might be looking for to _we are the raven and the ghost_ (the thing is while writing that fic I got so many different ideas about universe-building, and I'm only human and can't follow every branch as quick and broadly as I'd like), but I'm working on drafting that, too. This one-shot is kind of self-explanatory, I think, from the summary and tags so I'm not going to say anything more so not to spoil it. While I don't think it's actually _that_ necessary to read _we are the raven and the ghost_ first, it might help to skim through it at least to grasp the verse and some terms and concepts that are mentioned here. Please enjoy!  
>  (2016-06-28) Edited for some spelling and grammatical errors, etc.  
> (2018-04-01) Story updated/revised.

# the descendants

* * *

The Earthlings – these Tau’ri – are aliens, carrying the blood of the Ancestors, yet refuse to call themselves such.

Teyla and Kanaan have grown up with their stories, singing their songs under the shelter of the twin moons of Athos, whispering, praying:  _one day we shall be free of the Wraith; one day the Ancestors shall come back and destroy them._

* * *

The chills have settled into the hills and they have moved camp for the last time this season, following the game. Soon she shall be sixteen, and she feels it in her heart that morning when she wakes that Kanaan will Settle, soon, very soon.

She is very pleased when he remains in the shape of a fierce predator: sharp–teethed, long–clawed, the curl of his spine gracefully strong, and with this jaw, she imagines, wistfully, they could retaliate: with these weapons, they could strike a Wraith and strike it down.

Her Anima is the most beautiful one in the village. Of course, this is the thought of every child, even if she is rapidly leaving childhood behind; she has begun to bleed by every two moons, as a grown woman does, and she knows, having shared in the stories, that in some cultures on other worlds, that is a marking of great significance, a passing of tide and a reassurance of being able to legibly marry. However, on Athos, they would not force marriage upon her or another ever.

She does not wish to marry: all she needs is Kanaan, she is certain. With her Anima by her side, she is whole, and nothing will change that.

* * *

She stops waiting for the Ancestors to return during her twenty–first year, when a flash of light splits the camp, and they scatter, rush for shelter. But it’s too late, and the Screaming Ships descend and human and Animae are plucked like weed from grass; and she sees her father’s face, briefly, before the thrill shriek of pure pain as a Bond is severed –

She stops waiting for the Ancestors to come.

But there are still those who believe, and keep praying, and such comforts are small and necessary, and Teyla joins in their clasped hands in the glow of candles because she is the daughter of Tagan, and she must show them strength and hope. For if they lose that, what will remain?

* * *

Once, when she was a child, Teyla remembers having a brother. He was round–faced and sweet, albeit at times she did not think so, for he wept and cried and was tied to their mother’s breast, constantly, and for a seven year old, having such a brother means little fun. This was no brother with whom she could run through the forests and play, or scavenge for food, or learn to hunt. This thing, so tiny, was still too small to walk or speak, and its Soul was but a flicker of light beginning to spread.

And it never is given the chance to do so, for then a harsh winter comes, and though they trade with the Genii and other allies for food and blankets, it is not enough, and a fever sweeps through the camp; striking the old, the young, the weak, the strong, all alike, mercilessly. They dig a grave to bury the boy and sing songs, for such a death, albeit prolonged and perhaps painful, is still a better alternative than the Wraith.

At least the child would never grow up to experience this horror.

* * *

Teyla is three years old the first time she hears the Screamer Ships, and they had fled; emptied the village, made it for the hills, where the ruins are – there, they huddled in the shadows, as streaks of light flew over Athos, scavenging. It was one ship, a warning, no more – some were taken, and the morning the Wraith had turned and gone. She does not remember it for a long time after. Kanaan does, though, and he relies the sound of it in nightmares for them: the bright light that had claimed the village; a reminder from the Wraith that they remain and will return.

They always return: in a moonturn, a decade, a hundred years. They always return.

The first time she is old enough to remember it happening, she has seen seventeen summers, and she is a fast sprinter, and wields the knife well; her mother and father teach her the art of  _banto’a_ , and rapidly she has learned. Few boys in the village dare to challenge her. Every loss is a harsh blow but only speeding her onward:

To survive she has to be strong.

One day the Wraith will come, and they do not distinguish between adult and child, between the young and the elderly. They will come, and they will take what they think is theirs, their human herd, and voices will be silenced forever. Such is the way of things.

She professes, proudly, she does not fear the Wraith; and then her mother had struck her, and said to stop such foolish thoughts. “You must fear the Wraith, child; fearlessness makes one foolish and rash. Do not forget that.”

The thought of doing battle with the Wraith is never spoken – such an irrational notion: those who fight back are destroyed utterly.

* * *

(stories: of peoples that had tried –  _rebelled_ ;

they had been levelled to the ground, burned to ashes,

and unless those few survivors had escaped

no one would be left to tell the stories

no one would remember the names of the dead) 

* * *

There were once cities on Athos, great buildings of stone and mirroring glass, with towers reaching for the skies, and with paved roads full of life and laughter and the sweet smell of spices, the constant lingering voices and lanterns in the light. There were markets, full of people from afar, visitors from Manaria and Te’reem and Balkan, the air mingling different languages, and through the Ancestral Ring would come traders with foreign goods and foods that do not grow on this world.

But all such things are washed away, in time.

 _Oh, once we had resisted; we rebelled,_ old Charin tells her, upon the turn of Teyla’s nineteenth winter;  _All was plentiful … plentiful enough to raise an army, and we believed we could prosper enough to strike back._

She has heard the story before, and every time she leans in, curiously, tempted, wishing for more: wishing that this time, the ending will be different.  _And then?_

_And then the Wraith came, and levelled the cities, and forced us to regain a simple, nomadic life, a once great people scattered. In the Last Great Culling, hundreds were taken. And they, too, that thought the Ancestors would return for them …_

Then, in the middle of the storytelling, the tent is opened, and her father Torren appears, scowling: “Teyla! There you are. Come, now. Have I not told you to leave these tales for the children?”

She is twenty years old now – she ceased being a child long ago.

“Yes, father,” she admits, albeit Kanaan is thrumming with restlessness and they wish they could lay aside their daily duties, for once, to run free as they once did: the naïve youngling who crossed the rivers and the woods in search for Ancestral treasures, exploring the old ruins by the creek;

Those days are over.

* * *

Kanaan appeared in the molding of light and shadow and it was beautiful, her mother Tagan would tell her; and the Anima was so clear and vigorous, playfully exploring the corners of their tent as soon as the Anima had Shaped: and he switches forms as easily as breathing, constantly testing the boundaries.

Once she is old enough to walk, they would begin to run together:  _little menaces_ , their mother would chuckle fondly, remembering.

And they would run and play and forget about the rest of the stars for a quiet time, and the Wraith were stories, Things That Slept Faraway –

* * *

They are given no chance to bury their father. Torren is taken during a cold sunrise, and they would have celebrated Teyla’s Naming Day thirteen days hence but now, not now, with this lingering grief and shock of another Culling; they are coming ever–so–often now, the years in–between shortening and soon, soon the stories tell, they will Waken from their Long Sleep; it has been so many generations now. Soon.

Soon.

* * *

The first world they see beyond Athos is Balkan, following their mother to trade some furs for spices; and it is a rich world, at the height of summer – a shock their bodies are not ready to adjust to as they step through the Ancestral Ring, leaving the snows of Athos behind.

It is marvelous, and not a little bit daunting, but Teyla hides her fears behind a façade of steel, determined: she observes how Tagan and Helios, her Anima, speak with the traders, the movement of hands, the words of choice.  _Watch and learn,_ her mother had instructed;  _one day, you shall be doing this yourself._

She had dreamt of fighting the Wraith; but she shall be a diplomat. That is the way she will lead her people through survival.

She knows her duty.

Afterward, upon returning to Athos, her friends demand to know everything: the details, the sounds, the smells. And she smiles and weaves stories, keeping them enraptured as if by spells; she is the oldest of her group, at eleven, and she will soon pass the test of survival in the woods armed with only a knife and the clothes on her back – and she will prevail, she is certain.

Always prevail,

always survive.

* * *

When they can, she and Kanaan spend time with old Charin; they do not share blood, but the woman has always been much like a grandmother to them. Teyla never met her own; there was a Culling, before her birth, when her mother and father were still young.

Charin’s Anima is deep–eyed and wise and quiet, curled up before the hearth without speaking much, old bones creaking; Charin is one of those few who has been witness to too much, seen all these years, and survived without being taken. And she shares what she can, now.

Shares her stories.

Teyla and Kanaan listen.

* * *

_“The Ancestors once had ships, like the Wraith, yet more powerful, and they would travel across the skies and do battle. But there was a War that struck the Ancestors deeper, and their cities were besieged, and they left the rest of us behind. Then – they disappeared. Some say there were utterly destroyed, and we are living now in the aftermath, the Long Shadow that will one day silence the stars completely … Some say they went into hiding, into Sleep like the Wraith do, waiting while building a weapon to defeat them.”_

_“And what do you believe?”_

_“Oh, I am but an old woman, child; do not listen to me.”_

_“Please, Charin. We wish to know.”_

_“Well, child. I am old, see, too old. But perhaps, within your lifetime, or that of your children and theirs, there might be a time of change. Some believe that one day, the Ancestors will return …”_

* * *

And they dream: of exploring the stars, ever more worlds to visit, new skies to see, new waters to taste; they dream of a future free from the plague of the Wraith, of the never–ending fear that they have settled upon all human life.

* * *

When their mother goes, without chance of return, there is a great feast. For she died honorably and so rarely without struggling, without screaming, without her Anima lingering a ghost: it was swift, and yet she was constantly present, and they could hold her hand and sing the songs of the Ancestors, a lullaby. And to have bodies to bury is a blessing to be cherished. Teyla weeps, but not all in vain, and cradles Kanaan close as they keep singing, singing sweetly gently like the stream and the stars wheeling above, and the night passes into day. As morning casts pink and yellow light upon the treetops, they open their eyes, and Tagan and her Anima have closed theirs forever. 

It is peaceful.

It is quiet.

And afterward, Teyla emerges from the tent to greet the sun and her people, Kanaan by her side, and Halling gives the blessing of the Ancestors and says, determinedly:  _With your leadership, we will prosper._  

Now it is her task to keep her people safe.

* * *

There are strangers. Halling brings them into the camp, in the darkness before dawn, and they are awake for dining and praying; and these people are not traders, whatever they say. There is steel to them, in their faces, yet a gaunt naïveté that is unexpected. The items they carry are weapons, of some sort, yet Teyla cannot name them – not yet – and their Animae have shapes which she and her people never before have seen.

That in itself is not unheard of. There are many worlds and many different lifeforms out there; yet, these are completely new, not having appeared in old stories, in texts burned to dust.

Their leader is a man of grey dimness and a manner of seeing right through her and Kanaan like mist, but there is another, younger, with eyes the color of the deep greens of grass at the height of spring, and a smile that is much gentler, albeit there is something very strange about him too. This man speaks of travelling faster than a steed and riding upon great turning–wheels and liking games which children play, kicking a ball between them, but Teyla also sense no lie to him as he says this; and they speak as if they have never heard of the Wraith –

They come from a world untouched; they cannot return, they claim, not free of regret or fear and yet pursuing the hopes of continuing onward.

They do not share the name of their homeworld right–away. Wherever it is, it lies far beyond the reach of stars which can be seen from Athos, and now they claim to be in need of shelter, for a time; there is the underlying question of supplies or food, of trade. Possibilities to become allies. 

So Teyla offers them to share tea, to speak further and perhaps form friendship; the older one, Colonel Marshall Sumner – which part is title and which is name is difficult to decide – dismisses the idea, restlessly; wishing to be elsewhere. They are seeking something – shelter, perhaps, or more – but evidently find Athos and its people lacking.

But the younger one lingers – Major John Sheppard, he calls himself, an odd name, and they cannot see his Anima. Perhaps it is small enough to rest within the folds of his strange wear. There are people who do have small ones, and some profess it is a comfort: such Anima can be held safe and close always, much harder to lose to the Wraith.

“Your leader speaks as if he looks right through me,” Teyla admits, gauging his reaction.

And he looks at her. “And do I?” he wonders, curious.

“No, you do not.”

“Actually,” the man says, after a pause, “he’s not really our leader. I mean, kind of. There’s a civilian –” the word is odd: a suggestion of not–warrior, of peacekeeper. “Doctor Elizabeth Weir. Colonel Sumner is the head of our military contingent.”

“I see,” she says, albeit she is not sure if she does. Odd distinctions they do not have here on Athos. What else is different between their two peoples?

For a moment the child emerges: curious, albeit more wary than in her youth – Kanaan murmurs: _They do not seem to come with ill intent._

They do not say where they come from, other than it lies far away – across so many stars they cannot be counted. And Teyla wonders why they left this world behind, if the Wraith have never gone there; why leave a place so safe knowing you might not be able to return?

“Well, we’re explorers,” Major John Sheppard explains: briefly, as if he cannot quite find the words necessary; perhaps he is not allowed to say much more. There is a certain cold about the older one, the one called Colonel Sumner, which is amplified with Major John Sheppard nearby as if by a lack of trust; perhaps there are orders of silence, of not revealing too much to foreigners. “We – explore.”

* * *

When the lights come and the Screamer Ships clutter the sky, every bone in her body protesting with warning:  **they have come** –

Kanaan screams, and Major John Sheppard, rushing behind them closely, shouts her name,  _Watch out!_  but the word is clipped mid–way and it is like walking into a wall, escaping the light of the sun into blackness, devouring her completely; and everything ceases to be.

* * *

She does not expect to wake up again.

But they do wake, to the inside of a prison, and the air is foul, rank with the stench of rotting flesh; and she presses close to Kanaan, hands in his fur, and breathes deeply. These will be their last moments, then. They are not armed; there are two of the foreigners there, too, the grey leader and one of his companions – but they have been disarmed, stripped of their strange gear. The Wraith – she has heard so many stories: but never seen one so close, close enough to sense its breaths and Kanaan bears his teeth; but the Wraith pull out Toran from the cell, and he cries and pleads and his Anima is left behind –

(They are childhood friends, Toran and she. Teyla remembers being ten years old, not yet old enough to carry all the burdens of her people and the responsibility of her mother and father; they’d run to the Old Ruins then and played, drawn circles in the dirt and imagined walking through them as if through the Ancestral Ring, to explore other worlds, free of the Wraith.

It was so long ago.)

Colonel Marshall Sumner tries to make the them negotiate, but the Wraith do not speak.

“They do not need to explain themselves,” Teyla says, darkly; they never have done, and they never will.

Nightmares do not offer reasons. 

* * *

The screaming begins.

* * *

No rescue is ever expected, not for their sake. Once taken, no one ever returns.

Teyla is ready for the prayers.

But then there is the rustle of movement and there is Major John Sheppard, and a young soldier beside him, the one with skin more like hers, and an Anima tucked into his sleeve nervously hiding. They place some kind of device across the cell bars. The other foreigner in the cell – face rough and stern; he calls himself Sergeant Bates, and Teyla wonders if perhaps all these foreign words are not wholly names but titles of some sort, indication of rank – tells the Athosians to cover their ears and faces. Without question, they obey.

There is a minor explosion, blasting the doors open: and an echo of tremors on the other side of the ship, as if similar devices have been used there as well. Were they younger, Teyla and Kanaan might have been inclined to think the explosive matter a form of magic, or something stolen from the Wraith. But seeing the black–handled weapons in their hands – they had witnessed its loud mechanism on Athos, spewing fire and dust at shadows – and the device blinking in Major John Sheppard’s palm – a sliver of light in the darkness – they think:  _this is beyond Wraith knowledge._

These people are advanced and they carry the means to challenge the Wraith, to destroy; what else do they possess?

This display of reckless courage is both frightening and refreshing and confusing, and it is drawing Teyla in like a spell. Those childhood dreamscapes: these people, they are making them come to life. Making the chances real. They could fight back –

They are ushered from out of the cell, fleeing through corridors, following one of their rescuers – evidently he remembers the path, striding confidently yet carefully forward, checking each turn before they make it, weapon held aloft. Not a single shot is fired; they cannot see any Wraith, no guards. Major John Sheppard has already left to find their leader whom the Wraith took away earlier. To question or torture or merely to feed; it is impossible to know.

“Now what?” asks Sergeant Bates their remaining rescuer. “How do we get out of here?”

“There’s a ship, parked a couple of klicks south,” the young man says. “The Major’ll fly us out of here.”

A ship? Like the Screamer Ships, borne through the Ancestral Ring and cleaving the skies? Remembrance shudders through her;

* * *

 _We don’t leave anyone behind,_  the Major tells her and Kanaan later, when it has been clarified that his name is John Sheppard, and that ‘Major’ is a military rank, a designation.  _We don’t leave anyone behind._ Words that might be seared onto his very soul, a code to live by: 

_We don’t leave anyone behind._

* * *

And they are flying –  **flying** , truly, through the air and beyond to a place where it goes from blue to dark, and they can see the scatter of stars as far–off lanterns, hundreds, thousands. Major Sheppard moves the craft as if he was one with it, gracefully, bound to its engines, and he is the only one who can fly it;

This is an Ancestral ship, and from its hull issues a weapon of light, tearing the Screamer Ships apart, clearing the way.

They pass through the Ring – but not to the burning remnants of Athos.

* * *

Later they send a reconnaissance party. Athos is smothering ashes, the whole village burned down in a display of cold rage; they do not find out for a long time exactly why, why this ferocious attack that would have wiped them all out if not for the actions of Major Sheppard and the others, taking the survivors with them to Atlantis. Later, they remember the locket which the Major had found for her in the Old Ruins, glimmering in the sand; the one which had activated at his touch, because of the blood running through his veins. It had sent out a signal – Dr Rodney McKay had explained to her and Kanaan how it worked – calling the Wraith there in the belief of the Ancestors, their Ancient Enemy, returning.

Dr Weir – Elizabeth, smiling gently, kindly, in understanding – offers them to let them stay here. Live alongside them in the Ancestral City, where they will be safe. Oh, she does not promise safety but almost, and for now, that is enough.

* * *

They claim not to be Ancestors, but the City of Atlantis is here and it is so real and the towers gleaming, and Teyla and Kanaan stand on a balcony watching its piers in silent disbelief: is this the prayer, finally revealed and answered?

And the disbelief gives way to fervent hopes, and they remember how they grew up wanting to be warriors, to fight the Wraith; to free Athos and all other worlds until there is nothing left to fear anymore.

Dr Weir offers them a haven here. There is nothing left of Athos to rebuild; not enough, anyway. In return, the foreigners – the people of Atlantis; Tau’ri, they call themselves; the Lanteans – wish for knowledge, about this galaxy which in their words is named Pegasus, its people and constellations and histories. Knowledge about the Wraith. Knowledge to forge alliances with others.

Knowledge which Teyla is ready to give.

A chance to strike back against the Wraith.

* * *

They claim not to be Ancestors, but Major Sheppard – John – undoubtedly carries their blood in his veins, the City and everything in it responding to his presence as if alive;

(and later they will know just how true this is)

_One day, they will return, and free us all from the Wraith;_

Teyla and Kanaan no longer pray for the Ancestors to return. The Tau’ri tell them about a Plague, long ago, and of Ascension, and how combined forces had driven the Ancestors – the Ancients, the Old Ones – to extinction. A few survived, a few, and they had intermingled with the people of Earth.

Some of them had survived.

And John Sheppard might claim he is no Ancestor, but he is a Descendant nonetheless and Teyla and Kanaan are certain that this man has the power to give them a chance; he has the power to fulfil the old prophecies, even though he might be wholly unaware of it himself;

_and this is the day they have returned._

**Author's Note:**

>  **Ancient/Latin translations :**  
>  **Anima** Daemon (lit. « soul »), pl. **animae**. _I imagine the Athosians as well as many other people in the Pegasus galaxy to use the Ancient name rather than the word 'Daemon', but the Gate translation matrix would translate the word both ways when spoken._


End file.
